


As Good As It Gets

by starkerinrye



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Dark Tony, M/M, Musician Peter Parker, Peter Parker Without Powers, Soft Peter Parker, Starker, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22242610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkerinrye/pseuds/starkerinrye
Summary: Peter Parker is a local musician in Queens, he with his guitars, Spidey and Tiffany, dream of making it big, it's far fetched until Tony Stark runs into him.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> This fic MAY contain heavy topics such as self-harm and suicide be advised before reading

Tony Stark was nothing short of eccentric. He offered the world an aura of wealth and sexual prowess, he was King Midas to the eyes of the public. He wore almost exclusively expensive suits and Louboutins, and Ray-Bans to cover his whiskey colored eyes. The world either loved or despised him, which of course, was entirely understandable. Because really, what were you supposed to think of a billionaire playboy who plays dress up with iron suits?

He spent most of his work days secluded in the depths of science and technology, he called it 'tinkering,' despite creating masterpieces in weaponry and protection. Stark enjoyed listening to classic rock while he worked in clothes that were considerably unremarkable compared to what he showed the public. The honest truth of it all was that Tony Stark had a soft side, one completely overturned by society, as they only accepted him as the sarcastic, narcissistic Iron Man.

Society never favored him, he lacked the social skills to rub off as a decent influence on children across the globe, only to be the backstory of villains who once looked up to him. The Great Tony Stark was made up of Jenga blocks, one wrong move and he'd be done for. He could only have hoped for that somewhere out on that pale blue dot, someone saw the good in him.

* * *

Meanwhile, somewhere in Queens, sat a boy on a rickety stool made of wood and straw. His hair fell into soft burgundy curls over his round glasses, and his fingers were thin and pale, coated in a thin layer of blood as they found their way over guitar strings. He hadn't had the courage to sing, but he was a wizard in playing his music.

His torso was covered by a large hoodie and fell off his left shoulder and covered the button and zipper to his black skinny jeans speckled with unintentional tears. Over top of these jeans was an acoustic guitar, decorated with stickers of local cafe decals and Iron Man (which he had found next to the register at a nearby convenience store.) And tapping along to the rhythm of the chords were the boy's busted up Chuck Taylor's, which were once black, were now a hideous gray color.

After a few harmonies were played from him and an equally lanky percussionist, scattered applause rose from the sleepy patrons of whatever cafe they were playing today. Somewhere from behind him, spoke a man with a heavy Jersey accent:

"Peter, my boy! That was superb!" shouted the man, causing the patrons to look up from their work only to fall back down after discovering it was only Mr. Weise.

Peter shuffled in his small seat, unsure of how to respond to his employer, so his percussionist rose and spoke for him, "I think Parker is trying to say 'Thanks Cole! You know I love you!'" he said, a smirk ghosting over his lips, a hint of mockery danced on his tongue when he spoke. Peter lifted his weight so he stood less than equal to his counterpart, a blush of embarrassment swimming on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "Flash, be quiet.." he spoke small and soft, his head looking down at the coffee-stained shoelaces attached to his Converse.

Cole moved from behind the counter to drop a $20 in the glass mason jar beside Peter, which was weighed down mostly by bunches of quarters and wrinkled single dollar bills. He said something about playing next Saturday, Peter nodded absentmindedly, and broke eye contact with the older man who smelled painfully like freshly ground coffee beans and cream, moving his focus to the people of the cafe coming and going with the ding of a bell.

He wasn't quite sure how long he sat there watching, but it was enough to realize that people were there listening to him. Peter Parker was always a fan of people watching, it was almost like watching television, just without the laugh tracks.

With the plan settled for Saturday afternoon, Peter packed up his acoustic, tied his laces a little tighter and handed Flash some of their tips, allowing him the $20 Cole had awarded them. And with that, he was gone with the same ding he listened to as the soundtrack of coming and going from the Rise and Grind Cafe on 15th Street.

The world, to Peter Parker at least, was all music. From the breeze shaking the trees along the sidewalks, to the cars honking and whirring past, the scattered banter between the citizens of Queens, well it was enough for Peter to put a little skip in his step. He hummed quietly to the songs he plays at the coffee shops, his guitar case hanging on by his slightly curled fingertips. He hadn't missed home, that much was certain.

There she sat, Aunt May in all of her nosy glory, already bombarding Peter with questions of school and his performances which she never bothered to come to. May was a wonderful ray of sunshine when she wasn't looking directly at her nephew. And Peter tried his best to earn her respect and trust, but that bridge burned once he turned 16, and ever since he gave up on reconstructing it. What was really the point in conducting a song that you didn't really like to begin with?

He ignored her comments on his clothes, his grades and his music, slamming the door shut behind him. Dramatic intro music. He picked up his Tiffany Blue Stratocaster he picked up behind an old music shop and salvaged it from its glorious death, plugging it into his amplifier and settled the toe of his Converse on the pedal, stepped down and played. The sounds of his aunt's pleas to quiet down drowned out by music, sounding like nothing but a dramatic bass riff. He thought about asking around for a new bassist, as he couldn't live with his aunt yelling at him every time he played. Eventually he waved the thought, his fingers gliding across the neck effortlessly, erupting into a solo he created right then and there out of his own frustration. He glanced down at his hand, his marbled pick covered in his blood again, and with that he ceased his strumming, placing Tiffany in her stand, and opening his desk and searching for the Star Wars band aids only to find none. He sighed, knowing he'd have to leave the safety and comfort of his room to go out and spend his scarce tips on bandaids of all things. He wondered what it would be like to have a pleasant middle class family, that he wouldn't have to sneak out for bandaids at 6pm on a school night.

His Tiffany felt heavy in her case tonight, Peter's blood oozed from his nail beds, but he continued along unfazed. The 24/7 convenience glowed from the street like a beacon of hope, he imagined what the passerby's thoughts of the slice of heaven they walked passed were. He approached the door, and counted the change in his palm, $3.25. Peter scanned through the aisles of snack food and cereals, eventually his eyes landed on the bandages, only to find his Star Wars bandaids were $4.69, before tax. Peter sighed, knowing he shouldn't be so upset over something so small and insignificant. But he remembered how much of a pain it is to tinker with his broken guitars with hands cut up from the strings. He looked down at the old case that held Tiffany in her place, "Come on, old girl," he whispered, his weight crashing into something he didn't see while he was thinking about his guitar.

"Did you just call me an old girl, kid?" a voice spoke, sending shudders down Peter's spine. The man's voice was deep and raspy, as if he smoked minutes prior to their interaction, if you could even call if that.

"I-I.." Peter stuttered, unsure of how to respond to the situation he got himself stuck in. "Was talking to my guitar," he pointed to Tiffany, "I-I'm sorry sir." he slurred, dropping his case on the ground, and putting his hand on his face to cover his blush, only to smear his own blood over his cheeks, earning a gasp of genuine shock from the older man who towered him by a few inches.

It was only when the man became increasingly aware of the younger that stood before him, that Peter dropped Tiffany. It was a horrid sound, but it was not the sound of the guitar landing on its side on the cracked tile of that convenience store. It was the soft sobs coming from the small boy.

Everything hidden in the skin of that small figure came spilling out right then and there. Peter Parker has been around the block. He hadn't remembered his parents, he hardly remembered any of it.

Parker only remembered the times spent with his parents, sitting in the kitchen, singing along to whatever song was on the radio. Music brought his family together, it hadn't torn them apart, it allowed him to at least recognize their faces almost 10 years after their deaths. Peter remembered the song he was listening to when he witnessed Uncle Ben's brains blown out onto the street. He remembered the marching band's pounding shrieks of cymbals and snares, and the bass line of drums that was Peter's frail body being shoved into the lockers just hours earlier.

Peter had never been so embarrassed, crying in the convenience store in front of a strange older man who only lifted his guitar case in response. He asked what he was looking for, and Peter responded with "Star Wars band aids," to which the man opposite him chuckled at him. "Very well," the deep voice rang in his ears, "they're all yours." The man took the box and flashed a sleek black credit card to the cashier, handing them to the smaller boy. He said not a word more, as he walked out the door. And Peter couldn't shake the feeling that he knew the guy, somehow, somewhere.

* * *

The walk into the apartment, as expected, was not a pleasant one. Aunt May bellowed insults, punishments, you name it. Peter shut her out, knowing that it wouldn’t have mattered anyways if he had listened. Maybe it would’ve helped him write a new song for his next performance at the Rise and Grind, but regardless, he whipped out his phone once he was in the safety of his room, and texted his closest friend, Ned, about the interaction he had with a man he thought he knew.

After a few enlightening minutes, Ned sends an image to Peter’s phone. Though at the time it was delivered, Peter was already on his back, strumming his acoustic, Spidey, and humming the tune to _Hey There Delilah._ He had found this guitar outside an apartment complex back in April, it was stored in boxes that said ‘FREE’ on them in a dying permanent marker ink, the guitar had about 3 broken strings and had spider webs on the interior. He named her Spidey because of the spider that came crawling out of it once he had taken it home.

Eventually, Peter pressed his palm against the strings, ceasing the sounds instantly, and picked up his phone. Peter opened the message sent by Ned, it was a news article from the internet, he kept scrolling through it until his heart was caught in his throat. There a picture glowed a honey color on his touch screen, was the man he saw at the convenience store earlier that evening, and next to the picture was something even more terrifying.

“ _Tony Stark._ ”


	2. Cacophony

Being a musician isn't as glamorous as they say it is. Growing up with your hands glued to the keys, strings, what have you, music became your life. Since then you can't go anywhere without hearing the music of nature, the symphony of banter, the orchestra of technology. He listened to the brakes half on the subway, the long _hiss_ allowing him to tap his toe, imagining the instruments serenading in his ears. Peter opened his eyes, and suddenly the peeling subway tile, the mysterious liquid on the floor, and the abandoned sandwich beside his feet vanished. He saw the beauty in the now, he took Flash by the wrist, instructed him to uncover the snare attached to his shoulders.

Suddenly, neither of them cared they were going to miss their train, Peter uncovered Spidey and strummed the intro to _Iris_ by the Goo Goo Dolls, and Flash followed suit. They played with what they had, knowing they lacked the instruments to fully cover the song, regardless, Peter played until his fingers bled. The people of the subway station halted in their tracks, some stared at the boys and some others scrambled for their wallets to give them a few singles, earning them a smile from the normally shy boy.

Peter was in love with this city, and all of the noises it had. 

Eventually people began to board their trains, Flash had as well. But Peter stayed behind, not yet ready to leave the state of ecstasy he was in. He clutched the mason jar filled with compliments in the form of currency. He counted, and decided it was enough for a coffee. 

He sat down on a bench, darkened from the humid tunnel it resides in. Peter brushed off Spidey and kissed her strings, and a small sound rose from the neck. He smiled and placed her gently in her case and closed it shut. The _click_ of the case stirred up Peters mental cacophony. And suddenly he caught an earful of pleasant humming.

Peter's heart fluttered, something small in him wished the humming came from the vocal chords of Mr. Stark (mainly so he could thank him for the band aids), but instead stood Michelle Jones, a friend from school, Peter would say. She stepped closer, placing her foot on the guitar case, and Peter pouted.

"You should really try singing, Pete. You're cut out for it." 

"I don't think so, and where's this coming from anyway? I didn't even sing.." he started, she coughed the 'shut up and listen' cough. She lifted her arm to show him the video of Peter singing softly to _Iris,_ barely loud enough for anyone to hear. Peter looked offended, but his face softened eventually, "MJ," he started, "you're so sweet, but I don't think I'm comfortable with that just yet."

And just as quickly as she showed herself, Michelle turned and left. Something in Peter was relieved, but another part was lonely. He wanted so badly to be around someone who accepted Peter for the shy, nerdy, musical kid. Someone who wouldn't force him to play songs he didn't want to play, or to sing when he wasn't ready. But neither MJ or Ned offered him that, they're great people and even better friends but, they make him uncomfortable most of the time, they embarrass him way more than he'd like. 

Eventually, Peter knew he couldn't sit in the subway station forever, and so he picked up Spidey and headed for the exit staircase, determined to get a coffee and avoid going home for as long as possible.

* * *

"Mr. Stark!" called a feminine voice, his heart shriveled and he seethed through his teeth. "I told you not to bother me in the lab," Tony barked. And he meant it too.   
  


Tony was pretty much a lone wolf, aside from his pals Happy and Rhodes, Tony relished in his solitude. Stark spent most of his time alone designing new suits for his heroic deeds when he wasn't feeling like a huge pain in the ass. He made love to his whiskey on ice, feeling the slight burning sensation tickle at the back of his throat. He studied his designs in peace, until someone by the name of Pepper Potts ruined his mojo. 

Miss Potts was a confident Lady-In-Charge, the pant suit type of woman who was all but intimidating. Not to Tony. Oh no, Tony was the Big Bad Wolf of Stark Industries, he towered over his employees with his charm, wits, and sarcasm that tasted like poison. He was a handsome devil, the temptation. 

He had seduced all too many women, blew his money on jets and lavish trips to Europe. He dressed himself in posh-clad armor, to hide his soft side deep within his soul, though he hardly knew he had one. 

Pepper stood outside the glass doors, observing him work with anger steaming off her pale skin. Tony seldom bothered to glance at her from his tinkering, despite having sexual relations with the woman not weeks before this interaction. Tony didn't do feelings, unless those feelings were in his manhood. Tony smiled to himself, as he drowned his thoughts in AC/DC that blared through his lab and caused Miss Potts to cringe and cover her ears. He knew how to repel people. 

But it wasn't much earlier when Tony uncovered his soft side.

Stark was a regular at the Rise and Grind, mainly because the patrons expected his presence at this point and wouldn't cause a scene the second he opened the doors. He hated the interactions. He'd order his coffee and stay a while, watching the cafe's sleepy atmosphere, and occasionally scrolling through his phone. 

But earlier that week, Sunday to be exact, he witnessed something magical. 

A young boy dressed in a hoodie way too big for his figure, jeans that looked like we was attacked by a honey badger, and his guitar was covered in stickers of himself as Iron Man. Tony found himself smiling, genuinely. Something he hardly did anymore.   
  


The boy's soft curls bounced as he strummed, and Tony could have sworn he had heard him singing along to Led Zeppelin's _Going to California._ That day, Tony ordered two coffees rather than his usual one, and stayed a bit, watching the kid in the hoodie, with his odd looking guitar that looked built from scratch. The kid adjusted his glasses, watching the door for patrons that came in every now and then, as his percussionist talked for him to the owner of the shop. Stark realized he had overstayed, he had appointments more important than pretty boys in coffee shops. 

Tony though, took a detour on his way to the second meeting that evening. He went somewhere no one would really expect a genius billionaire to step foot in, as a way of ditching business for a minute before his life resumed like pausing a video game. There, unexpectedly, and by some grace of Heaven. stood the boy from the Rise and Grind. 

Tony breathed in deeply, and exhaled sharp, twisting his tools to undo the screws on his machinery. He had found his soft spot, and he'll do anything to cover it up.

* * *

Peter stared at his drink, wondering how long it'd take until his Aunt May assumed him dead, he estimated a few hours from then, and sipped at his coffee, savoring it for longer each time he picked up the paper cup. He watched as the people of this cafe differed from those at the Rise and Grind, these people had luxurious laptops, leather briefcases, the latest models of the best phones and headphones. he wondered if this was as good as it gets for him, just him and his guitar. And for a moment he daydreamed of becoming the big musician he always wanted to be if he could ever get over his stage fright.

And there it was again, the cacophony that followed Peter wherever he went. The shutting of laptops, the grinding of beans, the hiss of whipped cream, and soft coughing. The beat lingered in his head, and Peter pulled Spidey out of her case and began playing, and the welcome bell chimed as he was reaching the chorus of the song. People looked up, and his heart swelled at the recognition.

Only to find out, they weren't meeting his eyes, and their mouths went wide.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stark," chirped the barista.

Tony huffed, not a word left his lips, only the exchange of hard cash to the barista who softly applauded Peter as he packed his things to take his leave. Tony recognized this movement, this _disturbance,_ he wouldn't allow this kid to leave, no, not until he was satisfied with the music. "Do you do requests?" he spoke softly, voice like the abrasive side of a sponge. Peter was at a loss for words, unsure of how to react. Peter was no expert in music, he usually played what felt right in the moment, and _what he knew how to play._ Nerves got the best of Peter Parker, as he responded with a polite, "sure!" to please the billionaire, afraid of disappointment.

The older man chuckled, and relief washed over Peter, as Tony requested Tom Petty's _Free Fallin'._ He knew how to play that! 

Peter nodded, attempting to not show his enthusiasm, but it's hard when you're doing what you love best. He lifted his acoustic onto the meat of his thighs, placing his fingers in the correct positions, and in his right hand he held his beloved marbled guitar pick, now slightly stained with his own blood. He began strumming passionately, grabbing the attention of the cafe and refusing to let go, he dug the heels of his race car red Vans into the tiled floor, and Tony's head tilted to the side when Peter missed the introductory lyrics. He motioned for Peter to stop and his heart stopped being, this was fear.

"Use your voice, honey," he cooed, sliding a Benjamin across the counter top towards Peter, the younger didn't say another word, but he started again. 

" _She's a good girl, Loves her mama.."_ he trailed, his voice scratchy like an old record, he was trying his best without much singing experience. he continued until Tony motioned for him to cease, Peter looked disappointed, "I-I'm sorry, sir," he began, sliding the $100 back to him, and Tony took it and nodded.

"Keep the change kid," he finished, leaving his tip on the table, and left with his coffee in hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm really enjoying writing this fanfiction and it means a lot that you all are reading it, please if you can, leave a kudos! it helps me pump these chapters out more often.
> 
> On a completely different not, this fanfiction will have a playlist for it, containing songs this Alternate Peter listens to as well as the music he plays within the fanfiction. They don't really have a lot to do with the storyline so don't worry too much about spoilers. Spotify users watch out! The next chapter will have the link to it (:
> 
> Thank you all so much and please continue to support!! also check out my tumblr (starkour) for more updates and details!


	3. The Piper Calls

Peter picked up his bloodied pick again, this time in the comfort of his own bedroom. The only thing standing between him and the harsh reality of the universe was a single door, locked shut. He thought to himself about why he was in the situation he was, how come he was able to perfect his musical talents but couldn't form words to communicate normally. He mused about his guitar, how he was able to fix her up from antique to something glorious that hung from his shoulders. Peter knew he had a gift in music, but he wasn't great in analyzing things that happen to him, like why the Great Tony Stark tipped him so generously, and why did he bother to talk to someone like him anyways?

The boy sat on the edge of his bed, propping Tiffany onto his lap and draped his right arm over her, as if she were a dog to be pet. Peter smiled despite knowing that Tony probably hadn't meant anything by the gesture, though the fact that he was so close to him made Peter's stomach flip. He wasn't sure why, though it must be because Stark was a legend. The public claims Tony isn't a kind man, and holds up a barrier between him and the world, as if he didn't care about anything but himself and his wealth. But if that were the case, why had he thrown money at Peter for his poor singing? Surely that meant something, right?

Parker tried not to dwell on the thought, raising his arm and allowing for his left hand to find their places on the neck of Tiffany to begin playing a soft melody. He knew the tune well, he listened to it frequently in his youth. He was mesmerized by it, the voice behind it, the lyrics, but most of all the _guitar_. Peter continued playing the first few notes of _Stairway to Heaven_ and mindlessly mumbling the words to himself. It's a wonder, really, how we had been able to sing quietly, play the guitar properly (ignoring the pauses and slip-ups in his playing) as well as think carefully about a man he barely knew.

" _There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold, and she's buying a stairway to Heaven.."_ he trails, a hint of pain lingering on his tongue. He feels nostalgia pumping in his veins like cold poison, he winces, but continues playing. Peter can feel the music flooding the room, his aunt groaning behind the door, this was his nirvana.

Tony danced in his head, his voice replacing Robert Plant's, his words sound like honey, rich and smooth. _The Piper's calling your to join him.._ Peter listens to the invisible plea, and belts. For the first time, he felt confident enough to sing loud enough to form audible sounds, distinguishable lyrics, unmistakably Led Zeppelin's masterpiece. 

He had bought his Stairway to Heaven.

* * *

Somewhere in Manhattan, sat a very distraught Tony Stark, his legs spread and a glass of scotch in his left hand and a smirk trailing his lips. He pondered about his machinery and any way he would've been able to escape the meeting he was currently uninterested in. The words of business floated like feathers in the air, weightless and meaningless. Stark was bored, something within him churned with longing for something that made him feel whole and filled with anything that wasn't oxygen. He wasn't sure what it was, but he remembered the last time he felt it. 

Yesterday. Mere hours before he was sat in his current position sat a younger boy, his second hand guitar perched lonely but strong in his lap atop his well loved jeans. Something felt _correct_ about the boy, he hadn't even known his name, but he knew that his voice sounded something akin to gospel choir, it wasn't pure, it wasn't perfect, but it was wholesome and real. It was unedited, nothing felt altered, there was no competition to be better than anyone else in the room. It defined this boy as someone he would've saved in New York, worthy of third chances, deserving of life.

Tony knew he wasn't the best man he could be, he hadn't been bothered to hold out a basket to catch the feathery business words, but he knew there was something so incredibly important to him. There was that voice, that coaxing, melodic, imperfect voice. The realest he'd ever heard, it scratched his throat, and felt like the scruff on his chin. He needed to hear it again. He wasn't sure how, but he was determined to find purpose in his shallow life again.

The man up and left his conference without so much as utter a farewell under his breath, and after a few puffs of fresh air, it wasn't long till Tony stood before the Rise and Grind cafe. He grinned, and spoke salutations to the patrons of the coffee shop. Mr. Weise was pleased to see his favorite customer, but donned a look of shock when the billionaire asked for the information of the small guitarist he had listened to there. Confused, Cole handed over a small piece of paper, it wasn't official or anything, it only said " _Peter Parker, musician"_ and had digits to a phone number in smaller font underneath. And without another word, Tony was gone, and he began to dial the number in his phone.

" _...Hello? Who is this?"_


	4. The Gig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY I PROMISE THERES MORE COMING

The sound of radio silence filled his ear, the voice on the other end hummed in a familiar tone, though he hadn’t been able to identify it. Peter stood there, pondering over it so long he forgot to answer, the man on the line grew impatient.

The man’s voice was breathy and rasp, almost as if he had spent the day before he called screaming at noisy neighbors. His name rolled off his tongue, it felt natural, comfortable. The gears in Peter’s head began to churn, like he had been asked about a memory from his childhood he had to recall. Tony Stark sat on the receiving end of the cell phone, and smirked as Peter started to babble about posters and magazines featuring the man himself.

It took some time for Peter to regain composure, taking a deep inhale followed by a long exhale. “Why d-d-did y-you call, M-Mr. Stark?” The boy blushed, embarrassed of his interaction with his idol already. He must’ve sat there for hours rambling on about his life of studies and time spent cutting Tony’s face out of dollar store magazines, since it took a moment for the older to reply to his question.

The reality of it though, was that Tony was trying to find a normal excuse to see the pale musician again. The man was encapsulated by nerves, like he had some deep and dark secret that Peter must never know about. There was no logical reason for the blush that crept its way across the man’s unshaved face, only maybe he pitied Peter. Or perhaps this was all some elaborate way for Tony to be social with entities that weren’t manufactured by his own hands. The boy’s breath puffed over the microphone, and made Tony wince back at reality.

“I need you to play a gig at the tower,” he said a little rushed, hoping Peter wouldn’t question such a thing. Lucky for him, Peter only hummed in response before hurriedly hanging up on the billionaire. 

* * *

It had been a few hours laying still in horror and excitement upon his unmade twin-sized bed that kept Peter too preoccupied to answer his several texts and desperate cries from his aunt. He lay there motionless, dreaming of what it all could possibly mean. Peter knew that Tony could afford to hire Billy Joel for the night if he wanted to, why him? What made a kid from Queens so special?

None of these questions would be answered of course, as Peter hadn’t the gall to stay on the phone call that could risk his chances of becoming anything more than a boy in a coffee shop and a beat up guitar. He hadn’t even known when he would be expected at the tower, how he would get there, if he needed to come alone or with Flash. It was these uncertainties that caused Peter to cringe at calling his celebrity acquaintance back. 

It didn’t take long to find Tony’s number on his cracked phone screen, but it took every ounce of courage that he contained in his slightly muscular, pale body to press the call button. He sat there for a moment, dreading the answers to his questions, dreading hearing the voice that made him both swoon and cringe, dreading having to hang up.

Eventually though, the call was unavoidable, he had to know, and so he found it within him to call the older man. It took about 5 tones for the older man to pick up, but it hardly took a second for the younger to spill out all the thoughts that had run through his head for the duration of their calls.

Tony sat on the other end, at a loss for words about how to cater to this boy’s random questions. Though he supposed these were necessary queries for a young and aspiring musician to ask to make a name for himself. 

Instead though, Tony simply requested for Peter to play a song for him. Peter obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also sorry it's so short <3


End file.
